


peter parker would wait up for u and here's proof

by floweryfran



Series: and i knew for sure (i was loved) [10]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Spideychelle, im manifesting j fisher as laurie thanks, mj as an actor. hngnhnhn?? are u kidding, no plot just peter being a trophy wife, plz let her be an actress mcu, she's so cool, utter sweetness luvs!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25053088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryfran/pseuds/floweryfran
Summary: His life has been absolutely full to bursting with MJ since they reconnected last summer. Waking up with her coconut-scented curls in his mouth, her hand in his back pocket on the subway, her leaving him little voicemails during the day:Hey, Pete, I just learned that there’s enough copper on the roof of the Arizona capitol building to make almost five million pennies. Unrelatedly, have you ever been to Arizona and how hard would it be to pry copper off a roof?It’s a dream. It’s everything he could want out of living with someone he loves so desperately. MJ! She’s so cool and smart and talented. She makes his heart sing.or, i would wife peter up, too
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: and i knew for sure (i was loved) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722340
Comments: 44
Kudos: 177





	peter parker would wait up for u and here's proof

“Do oo wan’ me to save some f’yoo?” Peter asks, mouth disgustingly full of too-salty sesame chicken, phone wedged between his chin and his shoulder. 

_“Nah,”_ MJ says over the line. _“You finish it. I know what you’re like when you’re hungry.”_

“Mmjge,” he sighs, then swallows enormously. “I will save food for you. That is the least of the things I would do for you. I’d cut my nipples off for you if you wanted to make earrings with them.”

_“I don’t, for the record.”_

“Honestly? Good. I know we’re weird, but there’s gotta be a line somewhere.”

She snorts a little laugh and Peter smiles, shoving another hunk of chicken in his mouth. 

_“Okay. I can’t deal with the sound of you chewing anymore. I’m gonna go run my lines one more time and I’ll text you before I go in the room.”_

“Eep!” His chest goes warm and wild with butterflies for her. “That’s so exciting. Okay. Go. I love you. You’ve got this. Have fun!”

_“I will. Oh god. Okay, bye.”_

He smacks a kiss into the receiver and hangs up. 

The apartment is awfully quiet without her. 

She’s been out every night this week, in the final round of auditions for a production of _Little Women_ off-Broadway. Peter is dead fucking sure she’s going to be cast as Jo. It’s fate: the journalism major closed off to love who stumbled ass-over-teakettle into it over the course of a summer internship that brought her back to the city from Georgetown, playing the dedicated writer who values her individuality and ambition far greater than the hunt for a husband but finds a guy accidentally along the way anyhow and makes it work. 

His life has been absolutely full to bursting with MJ since they reconnected last summer. Waking up with her coconut-scented curls in his mouth, her hand in his back pocket on the subway, her leaving him little voicemails during the day: _Hey, Pete, I just learned that there’s enough copper on the roof of the Arizona capitol building to make almost five million pennies. Unrelatedly, have you ever been to Arizona and how hard would it be to pry copper off a roof?_

It’s a dream. It’s everything he could want out of living with someone he loves so desperately. MJ! She’s so cool and smart and talented. She makes his heart sing. 

He finishes his chicken and a truly absurd amount of rice before flicking on the TV and switching to The Great British Baking Show. It’s the best show on Netflix. There is nothing as soothing, as cheerful, as kind. He hasn’t been able to go back to Chopped since watching it the first time. It’s just so superior. 

He tugs a blanket over his lap, flicks off a text to Harry challenging him to some GamePigeon golf, and tries to let Mary Berry carry him into a sort of relaxed separation from life in general. He fails. He keeps his phone gripped in his hand and checks every notification with earnest, stomach turning when he gets a text from MJ that reads: _HFJDNFJ JnbfjdjdjdjdjjKozjiKJfjdkkKDJFNFK GOING IN NOW IF I DONT GET THIS PART I NEED YOU TO KILL ME AND BURN MY BODY AND SCATTER MY ASHES OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN SO I WILL HAVE BEEN THERE JUST ONCE IN SPIRIT. IT'S WHAT I WANT, PETER._

Peter responds: _i most certainly will not. bc i will not have to. you’ve GOT THIS!!! :D_

He looks at the TV again, then back at his phone. He raps his fingernails on the screen. He adjusts his blanket. He scratches the itching stubble on his jaw, then pulls his socks up, then considers burying himself in the crease between the cushions. 

He yells a little. Wordlessly. Just to vent some of the tightness in his chest. The renter upstairs stomps to shut him up. 

“Choke on a fat one, asshole!” Peter hollers. 

“You watch the Mets game last night?” he hears in response. 

He sighs sadly. “Yeah. I don’t know how we’re gonna get outta this one, pal.”

“Fuckin’ Mets,” upstairs neighbor says. 

“Fuckin’ Mets,” Peter agrees. 

Peter turns his attention back to the TV. Watches someone’s pie collapse. He promptly turns it off. 

He stands, does three laps around the apartment, does forty-six pull-ups while clinging to the frame of the bedroom door, and then wonders how the _fresh fuck_ it’s only been four minutes since MJ had texted him. 

He pulls up MJ’s playlist on his phone. At least the house will be fuller, then. He can imagine her bopping her head along to Moscow by Autoheart, her braids swishing, her arms above her head. It’s not the stuff he listens to—he inherited May and Ben’s penchant for classic rock and oldies numbers—but he closes his eyes and lets it percolate between his ears. 

He stress-eats a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and bounces his knees with enough speed to power a small engine, probably. He dusts the portraits on the mantle, organizes their dirty laundry into piles, and lights eight candles in conflicting scents. MJ bought them all. It’s like a luck seance. 

The 1975 comes on and he groans but sits through it. For MJ. 

His phone finally rings twenty minutes after she’d gone in. 

He almost drops it, his hands are shaking so hard. 

_“They had me read with fucking Jordan Fisher,”_ she yells in his ear, and he winces but smiles painfully wide. _“Peter. Peter. I think I got it. He’s totally getting Laurie. There’s no way he’s not getting Laurie. Oh my god.”_

“I am _so proud of you,”_ Peter says, pouring everything he’s got into the words. 

MJ makes a little sound on the other end of the line. It could be a laugh or a sob; he can’t tell. All she says is, _“I’m coming home to you. Okay? Be there soon.”_

  
He smiles wider, closes his eyes, ears full of MJ and the Arctic Monkeys and _MJ,_ and says, “I’ll be here, patient as ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> im telling you. i'd die for actress mj.
> 
> this was on my tumblr first! go follow that for shenanigans! it's floweryfran! i linked it in the bio for all the other chapters in this series frankly and i want some toast so i'm not gonna do it here
> 
> LOVE U ALL!!


End file.
